Double trouble

Ignore the hype, having two kids is awesome. Mainly because it makes looking after just one of them a walk in the playground. When you've got both of them hanging off your boob/demanding the Pooh Bear sippy cup or I'm-going-to-cry-so-loud-they'll-hear-me-in-Azerbaijan/pooping with such a force that they're practically propelled across the floor and out the door (delete as appropriate), then it can be a little tough. These days, I love it when it's just me and the poster girl for the Terrible Twos. We play quiet, constructive, age-appropriate educational games (or watch Peppa Pig on the sofa). Equally, when it's just me and the little man, we have long mother-son bonding sessions (while I sip cappuccinos in the bar) and I literally bask in the cooing compliments he gets from all the local grannies. Bliss.

When they're together, however, they're already conspiring to give me a nervous breakdown. Yesterday Isabel managed to fall down the stairs while Jack was howling on the sofa (if you're reading this mum, she's FINE). Not my finest parenting hour. No bones broken, although she nearly burst my ear drums with her crying afterwards (mum, stop panicking and get off the EasyJet website NOW, she's absolutely FINE). As for sibling rivalry, the worst of it so far has been Isabel informing me in no uncertain terms that no, Kacki (that's Jack in toddler-speak) doesn't want any milk and that mummy ought to put him in his bouncy chair please. As she can't form sentences yet and has a limited vocabulary of about 7 words*, this communication involves pulling my T-shirt down while shaking her head and doing her 'cross face', and pointing at the bouncy chair while repeating Kacki, Kacki, Kacki. Even the maximum cuteness moments have a worrisome sinister edge to them, like when she stuck her thumb in his mouth for him to suck and nearly choked him.

Anyway, the sun's come out so I'd better fire up the pushchair and get on down to Accessorize where there's a pair of earrings with my name on them. I strongly believe that surviving this double-motherhood lark is all about incentives. And if I'm going to have a nervous breakdown then I want to look good doing it.

By the way, I'm serious mum, she's FINE.




*Not counting animal noises. She has about 50 of those, all in Italian - not a 'woof woof' in sight, only 'bau bau'